Sometimes - oftentimes - we lack for words. In the midst of a glorious good, in the muddle of hollowed darkness, both can leave you inarticulate, stupefied into silence by either the beauty or brokenness of it all.
Here, then, is the gift of liturgy and poetry, a form with which to hold the moment, a voice to speak when ours stammers or cracks, language that bears witness, true to what we now only feel or experience - words that are wiser than we are.
This season of COVID has been unmasking the kingdom of death so present but often hidden by what we call normal. The grief and loss we've borne, multiplied and magnified in those we love and those we hardly know, only heightens my hatred of all the death-dealing that stands opposed to Christ's life and reign.
Ever since it first was published, I've found Doug McKelvey's Every Moment Holy a profound gift (includes things like a liturgy for changing diapers, a liturgy before consuming media, a liturgy for those who feel awkward in social gatherings). I'm eagerly anticipating volume II of prayers and liturgies - death, grief and hope. Below is a spoken word rendition of his “A Prayer of Intercession Against the Kingdom of Death” - for all those who weep against the vandalism and terrorism of death that distorts and contorts. For all who watch and wait for the day of Christ's coming Kingdom of life.
Haste the day, Lord Jesus.
He paints vivid pictures with his words. Haste the day.